Feels Like Yesterday
by TheBreakfastGenie
Summary: The team remembers and mourns Jenny on the third anniversary of her death, one member in particular. Post JD, set now but no Season 8 spoilers. Jibbs, Team/Jen friendship. The hurt/comfort part is more team, Gibbs is all angst.


AN: So I realized today it's been three years since JD aired and I felt like I should do something for the occasion. I threw this together today and it might be terrible, just to warn you. I did the best I could in the circumstances.

Feels Like Yesterday

_This story is dedicated to Jennifer Shepard, who we will always remember, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who, against the apparent wishes of the writers, will never forget her._

"Abby?" The goth broke her vacant staring and turned towards the voice. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Tony waited. "It's just... it's been three years, you know?"

"I know, Abs," he said softly.

"I can't believe she's been gone that long"

"It feels like yesterday."

"Sometimes I think I could just walk up to the director's office and she'd be there, you know? I mean, not that I don't like Leon, he's a good guy, but..."

"It should be Jenny."

"Yeah." Abby nodded. Each year she tried to feel a little less miserable on May 20th, the sad memories of which were topped only by those of May 24th, when Kate had died.

"Well... we should probably get back to work..." Abby muttered.

"Okay. I'll be back later," Tony promised. And then he was gone.

An hour or so passed uneventfully. Abby had gone back to staring blankly at the wall when a brown head peeked in the door.

"Shalom, Abby," Ziva greeted her friend, attempting to smile.

"Hey, Ziva. Do you need something?" Ziva took a deep breath.

"Tony said you were having a hard time today," she said honestly.

"I shouldn't be, Ziva! I've had three years to get over this! But it was so sudden."

"I know," Ziva whispered. Silence held for a few minutes. "When we got there..." Ziva began.

Abby looked up suddenly. "There?"

Ziva nodded. "The diner. I... I was the first person to see her. Tony took her pulse. I'm glad he did. I couldn't have..." She searched for a word but came up empty. "She was my friend," Ziva said finally.

"I miss her, Ziva."

"Me too." As the two women hugged, Abby sucked in a tense breath, trying not to cry. They were about to part when McGee walked in.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked politely.

"No, Timmy!" Abby assured him. "We were just..."

"Talking about Jenny," Ziva finished firmly. Abby nodded and shot Ziva a grateful smile.

"Oh. Yeah," Tim said softly. "I thought about that, too. It was today, three years ago. When I asked Ducky who, expecting the worst..."

"And still not expecting that," Abby finished.

Just as Tim had sought refuge in the lab, Tony had gone to Autopsy. Noting his depressed body language, Ducky had sent Palmer away so he could speak to Tony alone.

"You didn't have to do that," Tony murmured. "Palmer had to do the autopsy too."

"But this is not about that," Ducky answered.

"True. It's not. Did you know today is three years?" Tony asked.

"Yes, I did. It certainly feels like she and Jethro were quarreling just the other day, doesn't it."

"Yeah." Tony reflected. "Abby thought so too," he added.

"Are you drowning yourself in guilt, Anthony?" Ducky asked. When Tony looked up in surprise, Ducky chuckled, but the laughter rang hollow and melancholy. "No, you're not that easy to read, except to me and Jethro." Tony tried to smile a little.

"You think he knows what today is, Ducky?"

"Knowing Gibbs, Anthony, he will remember this day long after his death."

That night, Gibbs sat alone in his basement. From a back shelf he pulled the piece of wood he had selected nearly three years ago. He'd meant to carve something for Jenny, but he could never make an object do her justice. Today it had been three years since Tony answered the phone to deliver the second huge, devastating shock to his life. Shannon and Kelly had died twenty years ago, and the pain had still only faded a little. Did he expect to be over Jenny in just three?

The fact that he'd never told her he loved her was both a blessing and a curse. It was a curse because everyone deserves to know the truth, especially about something like that. But it was a blessing because Jenny didn't know she was leaving anyone behind. Anything to ease her pain, even just a little. If it stopped Jen from hurting it was good enough for him.

"Oh Jen," he whispered, taking a sip of bourbon. "I miss you. I really, really love you, Jenny." He turned the lovely piece of wood over and over in his hands. He had made up his mind that the third anniversary of her death was the perfect time to finally decide what to do for the planned memento. Right now, it seemed as if a raw piece of wood was perfect, like all the times he didn't tell the truth, the story that never happened. On the fourth or fifth anniversary he would probably change his mind again, but it felt good to have at least a temporary resolution.

"Still feels like you could walk right in that door, Jen," he whispered to no one but the memories. "Feels like yesterday you were here, and then gone."

In the wee hours of the morning he finally fell into a peaceful sleep on his basement floor. In his dream, a redhead kissed him and then laughed, a beautiful, familiar sound. Her voice would stay with him forever.


End file.
